


foundations

by harinezumi_kun



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-08
Updated: 2011-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harinezumi_kun/pseuds/harinezumi_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>how they come together and how they fall apart, from the beginning, backwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	foundations

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [arashi_on fundraiser](http://community.livejournal.com/arashi_on/3747412.html), for a request for "angsty sakumoto with a happy ending" :P sorry this took so long! this was my first time writing this pairing, so i was a bit nervous about it, but i think it turned out alright.

_-now-_

—The streets are never really empty in Tokyo, but at 2 a.m. they are as close to deserted as they will ever be. 

Sho is grateful for this. It means there are fewer people who might recognize him, fewer people to see him and wonder what he’s doing walking around alone at two o’clock in the morning. Still, every now and then he passes a crowd of giggly twenty-somethings, or a lone salaryman trudging his way home, and he almost gives himself an excuse to turn around.

He comes up alongside a towering high-rise, tilts his head back to look up and up and up. He still knows which window is Jun’s, and he’s not surprised to see that the lights are off—

_-then-_

“I—what?” Jun says, blinking up at him. 

Sho knows it’s not that Jun didn’t hear him, it’s just that Jun is completely taken aback by the offer, but Sho pretends it’s the former anyway.

“I said: do you want to catch lunch somewhere?”

Because it’s about time, really. They can’t go on working together—being in Arashi—pretending like they are only casual acquaintances. Sho hates what they have become, and he hates how Jun has to pause, thoughtful and hesitant, just to decide if he should go out to lunch with Sho.

“Sure,” Jun says finally, rising and gathering his things before there can be any more awkwardness. Across the greenroom, Aiba gives Sho a thumbs-up and an encouraging nod, and Nino rolls his eyes. Ohno just smiles pleasantly, and may or may not be aware of the significance of what’s going on.

They manage to keep things casual on the walk to the café—Jun knows a place, per usual—talking about their plans for the rest of the day, but it’s still not like it used to be. 

“Haven’t seen much of you recently,” Sho ventures, once they are seated with food in front of them.

“Been busy,” Jun replies, pushing his pasta around on his plate. After a moment, he seems to shake himself, sits up a little straighter, and looks Sho in the face when he speaks. “Sorry, just—you know. I’ve been working a lot, recently, with the movie promotion and everything.”

Sho nods understandingly, smiles a bit, and then wider when Jun smiles back.

After that, there’s less tension, less discomfort. They talk some more about work, about preparations for the concert, and about their families who they don’t get to see a lot of either with such full schedules. It’s almost normal. It’s so close to like it was before that, to Sho, the divide is that much more noticeable. There is a distance there, a wall, and Sho won’t fool himself into thinking he didn’t have a part in building it, and that was before they even broke up.

Why, Sho wonders to himself, is it only after you lose something that you realize what you’ve lost?

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, into the middle of Jun’s story about something funny his manager said.

Jun blinks, registers Sho’s tone, and then his face is suddenly guarded, wary. It’s frustrating, because that’s the exact opposite of what Sho wants him to be.

“What?” Jun asks, voice carefully neutral.

“I’m sorry,” Sho says again, “for…for everything. The way we—how we—how it ended. I just…wanted to say that.”

After a pause, Jun breathes a careful sigh out through his nose. He sets his fork down against the edge of the plate, gently, making only the tiniest clink against the china. 

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he says finally, with a little shrug. He isn’t looking at Sho anymore, but down at his hands, twisted together on the table top. “I think it was probably inevitable. We weren’t really—we weren’t anything, so.”

“Jun,” Sho says softly, with hurt in his voice, but Jun speaks over him.

“That first time,” Jun says, “that first time you took me home, you—” 

Jun pauses, licks his lips, and seems to debate about whether to continue. In the end, he does, finally lifting his gaze to meet Sho’s.

“That time, you didn’t do it because you were in love with me or anything, right?”

Jun says it like he already knows the answer, like he’s convinced himself of it, but Sho knows that under all the layers of casual indifference, Jun is still hoping. Sho can’t bring himself to answer, but his hesitation is as good as. Jun sighs, smiles a little bitterly, and stands, picking up the check when he does.

“It’s alright,” he says quietly. “I know, now, so…we can just be friends again. It’ll take some time, but. Yeah. It’ll be alright.”

Sho watches Jun walk away, and the very, very last thing that he feels it will be is “alright”.

_-now-_

— _Maybe he’s not even home_ , Sho tells himself. _Maybe he’s in someone else’s bed._ The thought sends a stab of jealousy through his gut, even though it has no right to. 

He heads to the front of the building. He still remembers the code for the little keypad by the door that will let him in. The guard at the desk looks up, recognizes him, and just nods, even though Sho hasn’t been here in…how long has been? Months. Almost a year, he realizes suddenly.

At the elevator he presses the button, then catches sight of himself in the polished metal of the doors. His reflection looks nothing like the Sakurai Sho from news programs and television commercials: his hair is un-styled and lank, he’s pale and tired, with dark circles under his eyes, and he’s wearing his oldest, most beat up denim jacket. He could be anyone, or no one.

While the digital numbers tick down over the door, Sho has a brief fantasy of Jun being on the other side when the doors open, like he’s leaving to find Sho just like Sho came here looking for him.

The elevator is empty when Sho steps inside—

_-then-_

They’re in Jun’s apartment when it happens. Washing dishes, of all things. It’s so boring and domestic, Sho doesn’t even see it coming.

There’s a tension in the air, like there always is nowadays, and to Sho it’s like playing MineSweeper—he knows there are bombs all around him, and he should be able to decipher the clues that tell him where it’s safe to walk, but he just can’t figure them out. He always hated that game.

“I checked the schedule,” Sho says, putting the rice bowls back in the cupboard. “We have the same day off next week. Did you want to go somewhere?”

Honestly, he’s expecting Jun to be happy—they never get to go anywhere, just the two of them—but instead, Jun just gives a long-suffering shake of his head.

“Wish you’d said something sooner,” Jun sighs. He sets the saucepan in the drain basket. “I already have plans.”

“I just got my schedule today,” Sho says, forces a chuckle, trying to keep his voice light. “I’ll try and work on the whole telepathy thing, though. Who do you have plans with, anyway?”

“Shun.” 

“To do what?”

“We’re going surfing.”

“It’s _April_ , don’t you think you could put that off till it’s a little warmer?”

“No,” Jun says flatly, like Sho is the one being unreasonable here.

“Oh,” Sho says. “Well. Never mind.”

Silence falls, heavy and suffocating. Sho makes a few more attempts at casual conversation, but only gets monosyllabic responses from Jun. He hates this, how he doesn’t even know what Jun is angry about, and yet is expected to know what to apologize for. He can feel the anger twisting into a knot in his stomach, and he tries to loosen it—deep breaths, counting to ten slowly—but it stays where it is, tight and hot. This is not his fault, he was trying to do something nice, goddammit, Jun has no right to treat him like this, like he’s being purposefully insensitive.

Jun finishes the dishes without another word and walks out without waiting for Sho to finish drying. When Sho finally leaves the kitchen, he finds Jun on the couch, flipping channels with a very carefully crafted look of nonchalance on his face. Sho steps between Jun and the television, taking the remote and hitting the power button before turning back to the younger man. Jun is just looking up at him with arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

“Why are you mad?” Sho wants to know, tossing the remote down onto the sofa.

Jun sighs—again—and stands, headed for the bedroom. “I’m not.”

Sho follows. “Well, you’re kind of acting like you are, so if you could just tell me what I did wrong—”

“I’m not mad,” Jun repeats, turning just before going through the bedroom door. He looks at Sho with that blank mask again, like Sho doesn’t _know_ that it’s all an act.

“Yes,” Sho says, hands fisting at his sides, “you are. I know you are, and I hate it when you pull this bullshit.”

Jun bristles at the curse word, but he is nothing if not stubborn. “Well, I’m _not_ mad, so…what do you want me to say?” he asks, spreading his hands.

Sho closes his eyes and breathes out slowly through his nose— _one, two, three…_ —but when he opens them again, Jun has already turned away, and that’s when he snaps.

“Don’t walk away from me!” he says, yells, and grabs Jun’s shoulder to throw him roughly back against the doorframe.

There’s a loud thud as Jun connects with the wood, and the younger man gasps, a sudden flash of pain bursting across his face. Sho sees it, and it’s the jolt he needed, the cold splash of ice water that washes away his anger. 

“Oh, god, Jun—sorry, are you—” Sho reaches for Jun as he speaks, but Jun backs away quickly. There’s something new in his eyes now, something that’s never been there before, when he’s looking at Sho: fear.

“I think,” Jun says, voice soft and even, “I think you should leave, now.”

“I—”

“And,” Jun continues, “you shouldn’t…I don’t think you should come back anymore.”

It’s like a punch in the stomach—Sho feels all the air go rushing out of him. He can’t even process this. Jun can’t mean what it sounds like he means. He shakes his head a little, watches Jun watching him, seeing the other man’s expression change to something softer—regret maybe—but Jun doesn’t change his mind.

“Go, please,” he says, almost a whisper. 

Sho starts to back away, not really conscious of what he’s doing. In a daze, he makes it to the door, grabs his coat, his bag, slips into his shoes. Before his brain catches up to him again, he’s in the corridor, back to the door, looking out past the railing at the apartments on the other side of the open central courtyard area.

He should turn around, go back in, try and convince Jun that they can make this work. But he can’t.

Because, now that the shock has worn off, what he feels more than anything is just…relief.

_-now-_

—The ride up to the fourteenth floor has never seemed so long.

Sho remembers times when it had been too long in a different way, too long for Jun to wait before pushing Sho back into the corner, kissing him and touching him like it was the first time, or maybe like he thought he would never be able to do it again. Maybe he _had_ thought that, Sho reasons. That would explain a lot.

The elevator gives a soft _ding_ as it stops, and Sho steps out into the corridor, lit only dimly by the security lights placed at intervals along the passageway. He feels, somehow, like an intruder. Like all the doors are locked to keep out people just like him. It’s lonely, too, knowing he might be the only one awake in the whole building, and his footsteps seem to echo doubly loud.

He counts thirty-seven steps until he’s in front of Jun’s door, and stops. After a pause of a few breaths, he pulls his key-ring out of his pocket. Jun’s key is still on it—he had tried to give it back, but Jun said he should keep it, in case of emergencies. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Well, maybe this is an emergency. It feels like one, and Sho’s hand trembles a little as he turns the key slowly in the lock—

_-then-_

The party—that’s when things start to go bad.

Well, no, that’s not entirely true, things have been going bad for a while. But the party is where it finally sinks in.

It’s one of the smaller company parties, a retirement celebration for one of the managers, one who’s been around long enough to have dealt with a good number of the debuted groups, so everyone has to send a couple representatives. This time, it’s Sho and Jun.

Normally, Sho doesn’t like to drink a lot at these parties, because he’s expected to have intelligent things to say and to remember everyone’s names. But he’s been drinking tonight, started almost as soon as they walked in the door, because Jun was already rolling his eyes and giving those little impatient sighs, but every time Sho asked what was wrong Jun just stubbornly repeated “nothing”.

But “nothing” always means “something”, Sho knows, and he just can’t deal with a whole evening of Jun’s cold shoulder without at least a couple beers. Although he passed “a couple” about an hour ago. He just doesn’t get it. They used to have a good thing going, the two of them, even if they never really talked about what kind of thing it was, exactly. It was just like being friends, but with the added bonus of really great sex. Part of him knows there’s more to it than that, or at least, there _should_ be, but now Jun has started in on _that_ story again, the one he’s been telling everyone for a week, and this will be about the fiftieth time Sho’s heard it, and he just can’t handle it.

If he weren’t so drunk, he would excuse himself from the little group that’s formed around them, find someone else to talk to, or just disappear to the bathroom for a while. If he weren’t so drunk, he would realize that it really isn’t such a big deal, and let it go. But he’s gone, far enough gone that he decides that just interrupting is the best solution.

“And I could tell she had recognized me, right?” Jun is saying. “So I was like ‘oh, crap, what do I do?’, you know. So then—”

“So then,” Sho cuts in, “it turns out it’s not her that’s his fan, it’s her mother! Ha ha ha.”

Sho is smiling conspiratorially to let everyone know that he just saved them five minutes of their lives that they would never get back, but all the rest of the people around them just look vaguely uncomfortable. Sho glances at Jun to see if he got his point across.

But Jun just rolls his eyes again and says, “Thanks, Sho, that was really helpful. Why don’t you go have another beer?” with just enough emphasis on _another_ to make it an insult and not a suggestion.

What Sho says next, he says without thinking, he says it because it’s exactly what he’s thinking and he doesn’t want Jun to have the last word.

“God, you are such a bitch.”

The atmosphere jumps from vaguely to extremely uncomfortable in a heartbeat, and Sho already knows he’s lost. And Jun knows it, too. He doesn’t even seem to care about the insult, he’s almost smiling: Sho is the asshole here, and everyone knows it.

This time, Sho does excuse himself, quietly and politely and in extreme contrast to his attitude of the last few minutes.

As he goes, he finally gets it. The realization hits him like a wall of ice water. He shivers a bit, feels his heart and his throat clench.

This thing with Jun—it isn’t working anymore.

_-now-_

—The inside of Jun’s apartment is even darker, even quieter, than the corridor outside, almost stiflingly so, and Sho pauses to get his bearings. Slowly his eyes and ears adjust. His whole body seems to be re-attuning itself to this space, this place, honing in on everything he’s missed without even realizing it: the quiet hum of the refrigerator, the dim outline of the couch against the faint light from the sliding glass door, the smell of the leather upholstery.

And running through it all, an almost overwhelming sense of Jun. Like he’s lingering in all the corners, like he’s left his shape imprinted on the air. Sho breathes it in deep, and feels a little shiver race across his skin. Then he starts towards the bedroom.

Standing in the doorway, looking at the deeply breathing lump in the bed that is Jun, Sho realizes that this is pretty weird and creepy. He probably shouldn’t even be here, he could have just waited for the morning when it would seem less like breaking and entering, less stalker-ish. But he’s here now, so. With another deep breath, he steps into the room—

_-then-_

That’s what it’s always been between them: a “thing”. They never put a real name on it, even though both of them are the kind of people who like labels, they like things to be organized, sorted, filed appropriately. 

It had a label, when it started: “crush”, “infatuation”. All on Jun’s part, at first, but of course the company said to play it up, make a show of it, and Jun was ever one to do the job right. It wasn’t anything like what the Ohmiya thing became later, but there was a lot of Jun talking about how much he liked Sho, what he liked about Sho, why he liked Sho. And when someone is always talking about you, it’s hard not to take notice of them.

And Sho notices. He isn’t sure what do to about it at first, isn’t sure he wants to do anything about it at first. They both date girls, though after a while, Sho is only doing it to keep up appearances. They grow up, they debut together, they change, and so do their public images. Sho learns to control his temper, and Jun learns to control his enthusiasm. It takes years for them to get around to the conversation where Sho finally asks: “So, did you really have a crush on me, back then?”

Jun doesn’t look up from his drink. In the dim light of the fancy bar Jun’s picked out this evening, it’s hard to see the expression on his face. But he gives away everything in the dismissive hitch of his shoulder, in the too, too casual way he says: “Yeah.”

Sho isn’t ready for the burst of heat in his chest at that. It shouldn’t happen, he’s not eighteen anymore, and Jun is his friend, they practically grew up together. But some part of him remembers the way Jun used to look at him, and part of him suddenly wants it again, part of him wonders if it’s not that Jun stopped looking at him that way but just that he got better at hiding it.

Sho takes a sip of his own drink and falls quiet for a little while, watching Jun carefully out of the corner of his eye. He should let it drop. He really should.

“What about,” he says instead, “what about now?”

Jun wasn’t really moving before, but now he goes completely still. Sho can see the way Jun’s fingers stiffen where they’re resting around the lip of his glass. It’s a moment, barely a split second, but still too much of a hesitation for a denial.

Jun doesn’t deny it. He says: “What if I said ‘yes’?” 

Sho feels another spike of heat, lower in his gut this time, and it dizzies him, clouds his judgment. He doesn’t get it—it’s just Jun. But at the same time, it’s _Jun_. Jun, who has grown out of his awkward teenagerhood into something much sharper, leaner. And the possibility that Jun wants _him_ , wants Sho, is a heady feeling.

“What if I asked you to come back to my place?” Sho asks, rather than properly answering Jun’s question.

Jun almost looks over at Sho, but not quite. His brow furrows. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“But would you come?” Sho pushes. His voice is lower and darker than he means it to be. 

Jun finally does look at him, then, his eyes dark and deep—but also young again, open and a little terrified.

“Yes,” he says.

Without another word, Sho stands, puts down money for their drinks, and takes Jun by the wrist to lead him out of the bar. He doesn’t let go on the walk back to the car, doesn’t listen to the voice in his head that says he’s walking this fast so he doesn’t have a chance to stop and think about what he’s doing. Jun doesn’t protest, just sits quietly and stares hard out the window on the ride back to Sho’s apartment.

Sho’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s not for Jun to push him up against the door as soon as it’s closed. The push itself isn’t hard or demanding—just one long-fingered hand against Sho’s chest. It’s Jun’s eyes that hold him there.

“You’re sure about this?” Jun asks, stepping close in the darkness, close enough that Sho can feel the heat trapped between them. He moves his hands to Jun’s waist, and up, under his shirt. He hears Jun’s swift intake of breath, then Jun’s fingers tangle in his shirt, and he feels more drunk now than he did at the bar.

“Make me sure,” Sho murmurs. 

And Jun does.

_-now-_

—Jun’s hand clamps down around Sho’s wrist with nearly bruising force, and for a moment he stares at Sho wildly, uncomprehending. Then he seems to register who it is sitting in his bed shaking him awake in the middle of the night. His expression changes from panic to worry in an instant, although in the dark the difference is almost impossible for Sho to see.

“Sho,” Jun says, half sigh and half reprimand. “What is it? Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”

“I—um, everyone’s fine,” Sho answers, rubbing his wrist where Jun had grabbed him. Jun visibly relaxes at this, then scrubs at his face and grabs for the clock, to check the time.

“It’s two-thirty in the morning,” he groans, falling back against his pillows. “This had better be important.”

“Um,” Sho says again. Because it had felt important, it had felt like he couldn’t wait another day, another minute to say it, right up until he woke Jun up and was actually faced with the _having to say it_ part. He stares at his lap for a few indecisive moments, until he feels Jun’s hand on his wrist again, softer this time, barely there.

“What is it?” Jun asks for a second time, but so much gentler and, when Sho glances up at him, with real concern in his eyes. Their gazes lock, and everything seems to collapse down into this moment, these soft breaths in the dark and the faint rustle of sheets and Jun’s fingertips just touching the pulse in Sho’s wrist.

“I miss you,” Sho says at last, and feels immediately stupid, because that’s not what he meant to say at all. “No, I mean—well, I _do_ miss you, but that’s not—what I mean is,” but then he cuts himself off with a sigh, dropping his head into his hands briefly, to make a mess of his already disgusting hair. He turns, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged on the bed, facing Jun.

“What I wanted to say was,” he tries again, “was about the other day. When you asked about why I took you home that first time.”

Jun doesn’t say anything, but Sho can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he holds his head. A slice of light from the space between the curtains cuts across Jun’s face, lighting up a line from his left temple to his chin, glinting against the necklace he forgot to take off before going to bed. Sho licks his lips and continues.

“You were right. I didn’t do it because I was in love with you. I did it because I liked the idea of you being in love with me. I liked how much you wanted me, and I liked how good it felt…with you. And that wasn’t fair. And I’m sorry.”

Jun shakes his head, and Sho knows it means _“no point in apologizing”_ , but Sho’s not done yet.

“But the thing is,” Sho says, clearing his throat a little. “The thing is—the reason I came over here is that…well, I realized something. I realized that, somewhere along the way, I _did_ fall in love with you.”

Jun’s eyes widen at this, shimmering faintly in the darkness, then they close and his eyebrows come down in a hard line.

“Don’t say that,” he says, and it sounds like his throat is tight. “You don’t mean that—”

“I do,” Sho insists, but Jun’s eyes snap open again.

“You _don’t_ ,” he almost growls, “you _can’t_ mean it, how was any of what happened while we were together like being in love?”

Sho starts to say “I’m sorry” again, but swallows it down. “It was complicated,” he tries.

“It was fucked up, is what it was,” Jun spits back.

“Well…that, too,” Sho concedes. “But we—we didn’t either of us know what we were doing, and this time, I would—”

“I can’t do it again,” Jun says, and Sho is shocked to hear the faintest tremble in his voice. “We were together for—what? A few months? And it took me twice that just to get over it, to just get back to normal. I can’t _do_ that again, if you just decide you’re not in love with me after all, or—”

“Jun,” Sho cuts in, and the younger man breaks off with a shaking exhale. “I won’t just—I _am_ in love with you, okay? If—if I wasn’t, it wouldn’t…it wouldn’t be this hard, right?”

Jun is almost completely still, but for his short, rough breaths, and he just stares at Sho for the longest time. There is so much hesitation in the way he holds one arm across his stomach, the way his eyes flick across Sho’s face, in all the space between them, even though Sho’s leg is just touching Jun’s through the comforter. Right here, right now, the wall they’ve built could keep them from coming any closer. Sho decides to tear it down.

“Jun,” he says again, a question, an entreaty, and reaches out to place a tentative hand on Jun’s knee under the blankets, never taking his eyes off of Jun’s. 

It’s enough. Enough to have them meeting halfway. Not a kiss, even if Sho feels the need for it burning in his belly, but a rib-crushing embrace, both of them clinging to each other like a life-line, like a last chance. Jun is so thin in Sho’s arms, but not frail. He is fierce and sharp from the tips of his fingers to the bumps of his spine to the smell of his skin, everything Sho has been aching for, and he wants to drown in it, he doesn’t even miss the air Jun is squeezing out of his lungs.

“It’s not this easy,” Jun says eventually, speaking into Sho’s shoulder. “This doesn’t fix everything.”

“I know,” Sho murmurs. “I know. But…it’s a start.”

Jun lets out a sigh that is almost a laugh, and his arms loosen to slide down around Sho’s waist. Jun turns his head, and Sho can feel the other man’s eyelashes against his neck, blinking slow.

“Can I stay?” Sho asks.

“Stay,” Jun confirms, and that’s when Sho turns his head. 

For a moment, it is just lips touching and warm breath mingling, and then they are kissing. It is a first kiss all over again—slow and careful and almost reverent. Eventually Jun pulls Sho down under the covers with him, but they just stay wrapped up in each other, claustrophobically close while they wait for sleep to claim them.

Sho knows they will probably wake up in the morning on opposite sides of the bed. Breakfast will most likely be awkward and rushed. Work will be more awkward still, while they try to rediscover how to be in the same space without the polite distance, and of course there will be questions. It won’t be easy.

But that’s okay, Sho thinks. Beginnings are never easy. It will take time to clear the rubble out of their relationship, but this time they can use it to build something better. They can start with a foundation.

Sho smiles, and then he is asleep.


End file.
